


Lupercalia

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got this anonymous ask on Tumblr:</p>
<p>"How would Cassandra and josephine celebrate valentine's?"</p>
<p>I was going to dash off a few quick headcanons. But then 6000 words of fic happened...?</p>
<p>(Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5013256/chapters/11521657">"Wild Wild Sings the Bird"</a>, set in that universe.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thoroughly unedited, written in less than a day. Happy Valentine's!

Once upon a time, in Ferelden, there was a person named Luperne, who fell hopelessly in love with a person named Calia, during the Blessed Age. Their families had been fighting over the borders of their lands for many years. But Luperne and Calia, both well past prime marrying years and both pacifists, did not see the reason for fighting one another, especially when Maker knew there were enough outside threats to occupy their swords. The two would meet, in secret, in a grove that lay in the disputed land along their estate borders, to talk about ways to resolve their families’ disputes.

Eventually, they began talking about more than their families. Eventually, inevitably, they fell in love. Isn’t that always how this story goes? Their meetings in the grove became trysts. They were incredibly happy to have found love when they had both assumed that they never would; it was an unexpected gift, and they cherished it, and each other.

After a time, the lovers were able to talk their families into negotiating — these were not rash young people, remember, but older adults who were taken more or less seriously by their families. Both lovers saw the wisdom in cooperation, and the folly in holding onto pointless grudges. They managed to broker a peace between the two families and establish agreed-upon borders, which fostered cooperation between them. Thus, when Orlesian invaders attacked the region in earnest, they were repelled by the combined might of the two families’ forces. Sadly, Luperne and Calia were killed in the attack, dying in each others’ arms. 

That was the story that Cassandra had heard, anyway. When she was a child, Lupercalia was just another strange foreign holiday, sometimes mentioned in the stories she read, or by adults she encountered, but not something that was generally celebrated in Nevarra.

As an adult, Cassandra learned more about Lupercalia as she travelled, and met people, and saw more of Thedas. It was had long been a minor but well-loved holiday in Ferelden, a day when lovers gave each other romantic tokens. Some time ago, Orlais, not to be outdone, had adopted Lupercalia traditions and codified them with more extravagant gifts and public displays of affection. This had filtered slowly into other human societies, where Lupercalia was generally known and sometimes celebrated.

Cassandra’s abiding interest in Lupercalia came about because of her reading. The first time she came across characters in a book celebrating the holiday together, Cassandra read with rapt attention about the hero giving the heroine a lavish bouquet of wild pink roses that he had picked for her from the deepest groves of the dangerous forest; the heroine feeding exquisite confections to her lover, with her own fingers, and the mounting sexual tension as she did so; finally, the heartfelt love letter the hero gave to the heroine, so romantic and full of adoration that it made Cassandra’s heart swell just to remember the words.

Cassandra had never been in Galyan’s company on Lupercalia, and had never really regretted this. They had managed to be quite romantic when they were able to be with one another, and it had been enough, had been more than enough, during their time together. Although Cassandra frequently read about Lupercalia celebrations and… liaisons… in the books she enjoyed, the day itself was, to her, little more than an extravagant and often annoying hindrance to her duties, when she was unfortunate to be somewhere that celebrations were happening.

As she got older, she came to appreciate the story behind the holiday more and more. After all, Luperne and Calia were middle aged before they found love, and when they did find it, it was as romantic and splendid as any youthful affair could be. No: more so. It was a love tempered by maturity and mutual understanding, passion that was underpinned by a profound and solid connection, and had proven more powerful than all the travails that their lives had thrown at them. Their love, Cassandra thought, was more genuinely romantic than the vast majority of the love affairs that were ostentatiously proclaimed in their name.

Now, having herself found love, against all odds, Cassandra felt she understood even better the story behind the holiday. Half a year into her sealed marriage, Cassandra still marvelled at her good fortune in finding love with Josephine. She wanted to show her love, her joy, her deep appreciation for Josephine every time she could, especially now that their seal was settling and Cassandra was being called to go out on missions more often, for longer periods of time.


	2. Chapter 2

With Lupercalia coming up, Cassandra decided she was going to do something wonderfully romantic for Josephine. Josephine had been working so hard lately, on contracts and negotiations and the entertainment of touchy visiting nobility. She deserved something pleasant and romantic. Cassandra was not sure whether they had Lupercalia in Antiva — the holiday had roots in Ferelden, but had long been adopted (and made extravagant) by the Orlesians. Certainly Josephine would be familiar with it from her time in Orlais. 

Cassandra could still remember her first Lupercalia in Val Royeaux: the showing of public affection, the merchants’ displays of gifts of chocolate and flowers, the beautiful lace-trimmed paper for love notes. It was all rather ridiculous, or so she had thought at the time, but now… now she had someone she loved deeply and passionately, and suddenly all the trappings of the holiday seemed less ridiculous. Cassandra even began to look forward to the holiday, planning what she would do.

Her planning turned her time on expedition into something she actually looked forward to. Since her marriage to Josephine, she had dreaded going away from Skyhold. It was necessary, of course, Cassandra knew that; she was a member of the Inquisition, and a warrior, and was needed in the field as much as she was needed in Skyhold. The first few weeks of their marriage, when Cassandra had stayed at Skyhold and slept in Josephine’s arms every night had been… had been wonderful beyond words. But since then, their separations had been painful for Cassandra, although their reunions were certainly _enthusiastic_.

But now, although she still did not enjoy being separated from Josephine, Cassandra could plan her Lupercalia gift while she was out on missions. Buying items from merchants in Skyhold would certainly attract attention, so Cassandra was glad of the opportunity to seek out gifts while she travelled. Shortly before Lupercalia, the company was passing through Val Royeaux; everyone was perhaps a little surprised that Cassandra did not complain when the Inquisitor announced that they would stay for a day, before heading back to Skyhold. 

It was still not easy to escape the notice of her companions to slip away on her own to peruse merchants’ stalls and carts, and she endured a fair amount of teasing from Varric and Sera, and even Bull. But it was worth it, and more than worth it, if she could get things to make Josephine smile and feel beloved on Lupercalia.

Cassandra managed to buy a beautiful paper scroll, trimmed with lace, with an illustrated love poem painted on it; the poem was one Cassandra knew, and its expression of devotion and passion suited her needs perfectly. Cassandra also managed to acquire a lavish box of chocolate candies from what Vivienne had assured her was Val Royeaux’s foremost chocolatier, which came in an elaborate box covered in velvet. Finally, Cassandra knew that there was little point in spending money on a bouquet of flowers, which would wilt long before they got back to Skyhold, and would have been impossible to purchase or carry discreetly. Instead, she found a shop specializing in ladies’ smallclothes. Blushing furiously, Cassandra made her way past the displays of tiny scraps of silk and lace to ask the girl at the counter about sachets. Cassandra knew that Orlesian ladies would store their smallclothes with sachets filled with dried flowers; if she could not get fresh flowers for Josephine, perhaps some dried flowers would do….

Cassandra left the shop with half a dozen sachets made out of Orlesian lace, each containing a small amount of dried flower petals augmented with scented oils. Cassandra had selected a scent that appealed to her, with roses and jasmine, and fervently hoped Josephine would like it as well. Now if she could just get the image of Josephine in some of those scanty ensembles out of her mind….

They returned to Skyhold in the late afternoon, two days before Lupercalia. Cassandra went to the loft above the smithy where she had slept before being married. Although she had moved all she possessed, except her armour and weapons, to Josephine’s chambers (she still thought of these as _Josephine’s chambers_ , partially because it made it even more special and wonderful to be there), she was still, officially, quartered there. She tucked the Lupercalia gifts, carefully wrapped in sturdy canvas, into a hollow spot next to a wooden beam. No one would notice it there, Cassandra thought, even if someone ventured up here.

Her reunion with Josephine, several hours later, was as wonderful as it always was. Cassandra stood from where she had been reading in front of the fire in Josephine’s sitting room, put her arms around Josephine, and held her so tightly that the smaller woman was lifted off her feet. Josephine laughed fondly, pressing kisses to Cassandra’s ear. “Welcome back, my love,” she said between kisses, “oh, how I missed you.”

Cassandra eased her grip, setting Josephine back on her feet and leaning back enough to look at her. She promptly forgot what she was going to say, seeing Josephine’s face, full of love, gazing at her. She wondered whether she would ever get used to this, to being looked upon with such devotion. Instead of saying anything, she leaned in and kissed Josephine, thoroughly and deeply. Each kiss, every touch of Josephine’s soft and lovely lips, lifted Cassandra on a swell of rapture.

One thing led to another, and they did not end up saying much to one another until they were lying next to one another in the bed, limbs tangled, each unwilling to allow the slightest separation to come between them. They talked, holding and caressing one another, of their activities while they had been separated, of their companions, of their mutual joy at their reunion.

After a time, they rose, Cassandra to bank the fires, Josephine to properly put away her clothing and ornaments. When they settled back into bed, it was again with arms and legs entwined. Josephine was tired from her work, and was drifting to sleep, tucked under Cassandra’s arm. Softly, Cassandra asked about their plans tomorrow.

“Hmm. I expect I will be able to get away to take the evening meal with you,” Josephine murmured.

Cassandra kissed her forehead. “Good. And… the next day?”

“I’m… I’m afraid I’m not sure, my love.”

“Will you — do you think you could try to take the evening meal with me? And be with me that evening?” Cassandra felt extremely awkward asking like this. She wished she had some of Josephine’s gift, that she could ask something romantic like this in the way it should be asked.

Josephine, though tired, apparently recognized how unusual it was for Cassandra to make a request like this. She lifted her head to look at Cassandra. “Of course, my love, if it is important to you,” she said with a small smile. She pushed herself up slightly to kiss Cassandra’s lips, once, before settling back down with a contented sigh. Cassandra lay awake for many minutes more, revelling in having Josephine in her arms once more, in the scent of her hair, the impossible softness of her skin. She allowed herself a small smile; Josephine had not mentioned Lupercalia. Perhaps her gifts would be a sweet and romantic surprise. Brimming with love and happiness, Cassandra slept.

Lupercalia dawned two morning later with a blood-red sunrise. Cassandra knew that this would mean rain later on, probably lots of it. With the approach of autumn, the weather in the Frostbacks was getting increasingly inclement, and this was being felt even in the shelter of Skyhold’s valley. She finished her drills quickly, then retreated to the keep as the rain started midmorning. She spent some time with Cullen and the Inquisitor, poring over maps and advising on strategy for some planned military movements. The rain poured in sheets down the room’s windowpanes, and the wind rattled the glass. It really was a violent storm.

Cassandra was fervently looking forward to that evening. Josephine had made arrangements for them to take the evening meal in her rooms, just the two of them. For the first time in her life, Cassandra would be spending Lupercalia with her beloved, alone together with the fire and perhaps a bottle of wine, and Cassandra would give Josephine her gifts and tell her how much she loved her, and then — 

It became increasingly difficult for Cassandra to concentrate on the paperwork and correspondence she was trying to work on. Between her own rather embarrassing preoccupation, the noise from the squall, and her physical restlessness from being sedentary most of the day, she did not get as much done as she might have hoped. Still, when the last bell of the afternoon rang, she was very glad to set aside her work and get ready for her evening.

Cassandra bathed, then made her way to the smithy to retrieve Josephine’s gifts. She was shocked to see that a number of boards had apparently been blown off in the afternoon’s wind. Crews of workers were mending them by torchlight. “Best check your things, Seeker,” the Head Smith told her gruffly as she stood on the ground floor, looking around. “I know you don’t keep much here these days, but your armour and weapons probably got a bit damp.”

Cassandra’s things had gotten a bit wet, it was true. The weapons that had been stored against the western wall had gotten rain blown on them from a few spots where boards had blown off or rain had been blown in other openings. But her gear was meant to withstand far worse than this. She carefully dried everything off with a rag, then set it all in the middle of the space where it would likely remain quite dry and also be out of the way when the workers made their repairs on this level.

She went to retrieve what she had come for, the canvas bundle with Josephine’s gifts. Seeing water seeping from the hollow in the wall where she had stored it, her heart sank. She pulled out the sopping package, hoping that perhaps the canvas protected everything, that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

Unfortunately, the water had gotten into _everything_. The beautiful scroll was stained beyond repair, the paper wrinkled, the colours of the paint all run together. The velvet box of chocolates was soaked through with grimy water. The delicate sachets were stained and soaked, their scent imbued with the smell of damp wood and iron nails.

Cassandra knelt on the floor of the loft, the ruined gifts spread before her. She did not weep, but she felt a profound and twisting disappointment and frustration that threatened to overwhelm her. She twisted the wet canvas between her fists, hard, until the sturdy fabric tore in her grip. The sound settled something in her, a little, and she forced herself to breathe through her tumult until she was more or less calm.

Well. This was regrettable. But what could be done? Perhaps she could still have a nice evening with Josephine; after all, they were not planning on doing anything specific for Lupercalia, gifts or otherwise. They were having the evening meal together, as they often did. It would be well.

Cassandra put the ruined items off to one side, to be dealt with later, and made her way to Josephine’s door. She knocked — these were still, in her mind, Josephine’s rooms — and entered at Josephine’s soft greeting from within.

Cassandra closed the door, then leaned against it, staring. Josephine was wearing one of her Antivan house dresses, soft and draped low over her décolletage, her hair in a loose knot. She held, in her arms, a very large bouquet of roses in shades of pink, which she proffered to Cassandra, smiling, as she approached. Wordlessly, Cassandra accepted the flowers, impulsively pressing her face into the blooms to inhale their scent. When she looked up, Josephine was smiling at her tenderly. “Happy Lupercalia, my love,” she said warmly. She leaned in to Cassandra, who held the bouquet carefully to one side. Josephine’s hands went around her waist, and Josephine tipped her face up to kiss Cassandra.

Josephine, of course, sensed it immediately. She pulled back, raising one hand to cup Cassandra’s cheek. “What is the matter?” Josephine asked.

Cassandra closed her eyes. “I had… I had things for you. For Lupercalia. Gifts. But I left them in the smithy, and the stormwater ruined them,” Cassandra said miserably. Despite everything, despite her best efforts, it seemed she still could not be as good to Josephine as she wished to be, could not give her the wonderful romance she deserved.

Cassandra felt Josephine’s other hand come up to cup her other cheek, and then her face was gently pulled down. Josephine placed soft kisses all over Cassandra’s face, her cheeks and eyelids, her chin and nose, her lips. Then Josephine pulled back and sighed. “My very dear,” Josephine said fondly, “ _You_ are my gift, today and every day. No, do not scoff. You are my treasure, my heart, my gift. Any day that you are here with me, you need never do anything other than just be with me. You know that, do you not?”

Cassandra opened her eyes and eyed Josephine doubtfully. Even if Josephine _was_ happy without gifts, without romance, Cassandra was not happy that she could not give it to her. Josephine pressed one last kiss to the corner of Cassandra’s mouth, then took her by the hand and gently pulled her into the room. “Come, love, come sit with me.”

They put the roses into a vase with water. Then Josephine served their dinner, talking to Cassandra about insignificant things until her mood lightened (the wine may have had something to do with this development). Later, sitting before the fire, Josephine handed Cassandra a book and asked her to read it aloud. They had done this many times before, and Cassandra had mostly gotten over her embarrassment about reading such things out loud. Usually, she read poetry to Josephine, but she did not recognize the small, slim volume Josephine had given her. Opening it, she saw that it was the story of Luperne and Calia. Josephine caught her eye and smiled. “I thought it would be appropriate, for tonight,” she said softly. “And it is a very romantic story. Will you read it to me, my love?” She curled into Cassandra on the settee, the swell of her breast pressing into Cassandra’s side, the firelight warming her exposed skin, her face turned up to gaze at Cassandra with an imploring expression.

Well. What choice did she have? Cassandra could face demons, she could hold her own against puissant enemies, she had walked bodily into the Fade and emerged, alive. But she had the feeling that this beautiful, extraordinary woman could ask Cassandra for anything at all, like this, and Cassandra would give in. She leaned over and kissed Josephine’s lips, again and again, just for the sheer pleasure of kissing her beautiful beloved. Their kisses were beginning to deepen when Josephine pulled back, smiling mischievously. “Ah, no,” she said, teasingly. “Not yet, my love. First, you must read to me, and that shall be your Lupercalia gift to me.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “That is a poor gift,” she remarked. “I read to you often enough.”

Josephine settled so that she lay with her head in Cassandra’s lap. “It is what I want,” she replied.

Cassandra brushed a tendril of hair behind Josephine’s ear, smiling helplessly down at her. “Very well,” she said, then opened the book and began to read.

When she came to the end of the book — Luperne and Calia, after dying in one another’s arms on the field of battle, having lived to see victory achieved, are buried together, and a magnificent rose bush grows out of the ground where they fell — she set the book aside and looked down at Josephine. “A very romantic tale,” Cassandra said, stroking Josephine’s cheek.

“Yes,” Josephine agreed. She sat up, putting her arms around Cassandra’s shoulders. “You know, I often think that I did not truly understand their story until I had you,” Josephine said, her voice thick with emotion. “Like Luperne and Calia, we are working together for a common cause, something we know is right and good. And… I suppose I did not think I would find love. Real, romantic love, such as I have for you. I thought I would marry for the good of my family, and would perhaps grow fond of my spouse in time.” She shook her head. “I had no idea, _no idea_ what love would do to me, what _you_ would do to me. I cannot imagine my life without you; it breaks my heart even to think of it. My love, every day with you is a gift, every word from your lips, every kiss….”

She got no further. Cassandra wrapped her arms around Josephine’s waist and pulled her close, kissing her, then lifted her up onto her lap. They kissed, slowly, gently, and in between kisses Cassandra whispered words of love into Josephine’s ears. They were not words of high passion like in the book she had just read, nor were they the sweet-as-honey words that Josephine had said to her, but they were so true and real that Cassandra thought her heart would burst from the weight of her joy. “I love you, I am yours, I need you, you are my life, my heart, my home, I love you, I love you, I love you.”

In the end, it did not matter about the gifts and trappings of romance. There would be other gifts, other holidays. Tonight, they had each other. It was more than Cassandra could ever have hoped for herself. To see her own joy reflected in Josephine was a blessing beyond reckoning.

Eventually, the fire burned low. They rose, Josephine’s fingers twined in Cassandra’s, and walked to the bedchamber, together. Her first Lupercalia with a lover, Cassandra thought. Not an ideal romantic holiday, to be sure. But, looking at the woman at her side, she knew as deeply as she knew her own heartbeat that it could not possibly be better than what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story can very sweetly end here, I think.
> 
> Unless you're a sinner like me. What can I say, I wanted to write some smut. Happy Valentine's Day to me, I guess. Read on for the explicit parts of this story.


	3. Chapter 3

In the bedchamber, the fire was still going, giving the room an inviting light and warmth. The first thing Cassandra saw was that an abundance of rose petals, the same shades of pink as the bouquet, were strewn across the coverlet. She turned to Josephine, a question on her lips.

“The roses are from the solarium,” Josephine told her happily. “I asked Vivienne if I could cultivate some there, knowing I would want some for Lupercalia. And, well… the blooms which grew on crooked stems can still be put to very good use.”

For an answer, Cassandra swept Josephine into her arms and kissed her deeply. They had had flower blossoms on the bed for their wedding night, but not rose petals. The idea of pressing Josephine down onto a bed of rose blooms, her beautiful body caressed by silky petals, their scent releasing all around them while Cassandra made love to her…. Cassandra indulged in these thoughts, rolling them through her mind even as she anticipated actually doing such things, here, in their bedchamber, with her beloved wife, on Lupercalia.

Josephine arched her back in Cassandra’s embrace, pressing herself into Cassandra, humming deep in her chest. Their kisses deepened, their tongues sliding together, and Cassandra helplessly gripped Josephine more tightly, desperately, desire burning in her chest like a wildfire. 

Cassandra had not known how much she would want this, before Josephine. She had gone most of her adult life without this kind of intimacy, and had never missed it. But now, here, with Josephine in her arms, it would be hard to imagine _not_ wanting this, not wanting this intimacy, this shared passion. Home three nights now, and she had spent the previous two with Josephine, with _this_ , yet her desperate desire had not waned in the slightest. It was not merely the physical pleasure of it, although certainly it was profoundly and thrillingly pleasurable. No, it was the urgent need to show her love and adoration, the insistence of her quaking heart that touch, pleasure, intimate closeness, were how she _must_ express her love, were the best and _only_ way that her vast and boundless ardour could be made manifest.

So she allowed herself to give in to passion, to desire, allowed her heart to become completely open, allowed herself to give herself, heart and body, over to Josephine.

Josephine’s hands were busy at the fastenings of Cassandra’s clothing, then tugging her jerkin off her shoulders. She never stopped kissing Cassandra, never stopped making those soft breathy humming noises that signified her pleasure. Once the jerkin fell away, Josephine’s hands were all over Cassandra’s torso, running over her waist, her belly, her back, her ribs, then up to cup her breasts, her thumbs running lightly over Cassandra’s hardened nipples through the cloth of her shirt and breast band. Cassandra involuntarily broke their kiss with a gasp, clutching at Josephine.

Somehow, despite Josephine’s lips, her hands, her clever fingers, Cassandra managed to shuck off her shirt and breast band. She wrapped her arms around Josephine, kissing her cheek, her jaw, pressing her mouth to the tender skin of Josephine’s throat. The silky fabric of Josephine’s dress was soft against her own breasts, sliding under her hands as she held Josephine. She ran her hands over the softness of Josephine’s waist, relishing the curves of her hips, her back, the luxurious magnificence of her body.

Cassandra pulled back far enough the turn Josephine around so that she could open the fastenings of her dress. One of Cassandra’s favourite things about Josephine’s house dresses was that they were infinitely easier to remove than her professional attire. Cassandra carefully undid the six pearl buttons on the back of the dress, then gently pulling the garment up and off as Josephine raised her arms to allow it. It was like pulling back a curtain to reveal a work of art, Cassandra thought. She forced herself to carefully lay the dress over the back of a chair against the wall, before turning to Josephine, who was watching Cassandra over her shoulder.

Cassandra went to her, placed her hands on the warm skin at Josephine’s waist, pressed kisses into the bare skin of Josephine’s shoulder. Cassandra sometimes thought she would like to kiss every single freckle and beauty mark on Josephine’s skin, find each one and count them with her lips. With one last caress to Josephine’s waist, Cassandra raised her hands to undo the lacing of Josephine’s half-corset, opening it with practiced ease and allowing it to fall away from Josephine’s body. Cassandra’s hands went around Josephine’s torso to cup her breasts, pressing herself against Josephine’s warm back, delighting in the feeling of bare skin sliding on bare skin. She ran her hands over Josephine’s breasts, dizzy with the pleasure of it, feeling their fullness in her hands, their incredible warm softness. Josephine was making soft breathy noises as she pressed herself back against Cassandra. Her hands came up, covering Cassandra’s encouraging her, asking for more.

But now that Cassandra and Josephine were both bare from the waist up, Cassandra was in no hurry. Josephine’s ardent noises were so beautiful, and Cassandra wished to draw them out. She leaned her head down to kiss along the side of Josephine’s neck, nipping gently with her teeth, hearing Josephine’s gasps of pleasure. She continued to slowly move her hands over Josephine’s breasts, her fingers teasing at the edges of her areolas, making Josephine’s breath stutter out of rhythm. Finally, Cassandra rolled Josephine’s stiff nipples between her fingers, touching firmly, not teasing. Josephine arched her back, moaning. Cassandra kissed her ear, and whispered, “Oh, my love, you are so beautiful, so very beautiful; to touch you is a delight. My love, my love, my love….”

Josephine twisted in her arms, wrapping her own arms around Cassandra’s shoulder and pulling her close for a searing kiss. Their breasts slid together as they embraced, and Cassandra shivered with pleasure. Josephine’s hands came down to fumble with Cassandra’s belt buckle. Cassandra smiled against Josephine’s mouth as Josephine growled impatiently. Eventually, Cassandra’s belt loosed, and Josephine’s hands teased around her waist at the top of her trousers. Cassandra broke their kiss, smiling at Josephine, then stepped back to swiftly remove her trousers and boots. Fully bare, she came again to Josephine, embracing her and kissing her, their bodies pressed together.

Finally, Cassandra pushed Josephine gently back, then guided her to lie down on the bed. She still wore her lace-trimmed smalls, and gartered stockings. The sight of her, laying back amid the soft pink rose petals, her skin glowing in the firelight, the soft roundness of her shoulders and the fullness of her bare breasts, the voluptuous folds of her abdomen, the delicate white lace of her underthings against her warm skin, and more than anything else the beautiful and inviting smile she directed at Cassandra, _only_ at Cassandra… it was overwhelming. Cassandra crawled onto the bed, holding herself over Josephine and kissing her deeply, again and again and again.

Slowly, Cassandra made her way down Josephine’s body, placing open-mouthed kisses as she went. From her throat to her collarbone, then lavishing attention on her breasts and her stiff dark nipples, while Josephine writhed and murmured in Antivan, her hands in Cassandra’s hair, encouraging her. Eventually, Josephine began pushing Cassandra’s head down, lower, asking for _more_ , and Cassandra reluctantly moved away from Josephine’s exquisite breasts. She pressed her mouth into the soft skin of Josephine’s abdomen, placing kisses with the edge of teeth along the deep curve of her waist. Her hands came up to carefully untie the laces of Josephine’s smalls, then gently slide them down her hips. Cassandra pushed the garment down over Josephine’s thighs, catching the edge of her gartered stockings with her thumbs and pulling those down at the same time. She kissed the hollow between Josephine’s belly and the top of her thigh, kissed all along the silky skin of her leg, then — pulling the stockings and smalls off entirely — placed a careful kiss to the top of each of Josephine’s feet (she had inadvertently discovered that Josephine was rather ticklish, and while such a thing could be very enjoyable, Cassandra did not wish for such a distraction at the moment).

Cassandra began kissing back up Josephine’s legs, her hands caressing and gently urging Josephine’s knees further apart. As she moved up between Josephine’s legs, Cassandra could feel the velvety softness of the rose petals they both lay upon, could smell the scent of the blooms as they rolled over them. She plucked a large, deep pink petal from the coverlet, held it gently between her fingers, and trailed it softly over the delicate silken skin of Josephine’s thigh, soft on soft. Josephine quivered, her breathing becoming ragged.

Cassandra settled between Josephine’s thighs, and allowed herself to simply look. It was such an incredibly intimate thing, to be between Josephine’s legs, so close to her centre, to be let in and trusted with this closeness. Gently, slowly, she trailed the rose petal up Josephine’s thigh, up the phenomenally soft and delicate skin close to her sex. Cassandra pressed a kiss to Josephine’s other thigh, gazing at her, her sex spread open and itself blooming like a rose, flushed and plump and perfect beyond imagining. Cassandra trailed the rose petal in her fingers slowly up, running it gently along the outer lips of Josephine’s sex, watching her quiver in anticipation, hearing the high breathy noises she was making. Then, she tenderly drew the petal over Josephine’s inner folds, teasing, touching, silk on silk, infinitely soft.

Josephine was breathing deeply and unevenly, her hands clutching at the coverlet on either side of her hips. On each exhale, she said Cassandra’s name, her voice becoming more raw and urgent with each repetition. Cassandra could feel the tension in Josephine’s thigh under her hand, beneath her lips. Letting the petal fall from her fingers, she pulled herself up, not hesitating, and pressed her mouth to the centre of Josephine’s sex.

Cassandra could not imagine a more blissfully intimate act. Pressing her tongue into the cleft between Josephine’s lips, she revelled in the fluttering of Josephine’s body against her mouth, the taste of her flowing arousal. Josephine’s hips, under her hands, rocked steadily and urgently. Josephine’s fingers rested lightly on Cassandra’s head, urging her on.

Cassandra swept her tongue over Josephine’s sex, mapping out every intricate and precious fold, before moving to the knot at her apex. Responding to Josephine’s urgency, lost in her own cresting passion, Cassandra gently sealed her lips over her apex and ran her tongue over the sensitive knot there, and again, and again. Josephine’s hips bucked, and her cries grew higher, until her body tensed and released all at once. Cassandra stilled her mouth, staying pressed close against Josephine through her climax, feeling the fluttering pulsing of her sex against her lips, her tongue.

When Josephine’s body stilled and settled, Cassandra pressed several more kisses to the warm skin of Josephine’s thigh, tasting the salt of her sweat on her lips. To know that she had brought this much pleasure, this much joy to Josephine was a gift; it filled some space in her that she hadn’t known was empty all these years.

Cassandra pushed herself up the bed to lay back against the pillows, then pulled Josephine’s loose and relaxed form up to cradle her in her arms. Josephine’s eyes were half-lidded, and she was humming happily and she gazed at Cassandra.

Cassandra plucked another rose petal from the coverlet, then trailed it gently over the skin of Josephine’s arm. Josephine writhed responsively. Encouraged, Cassandra traced over Josephine’s collarbone with the petal, then her throat, her jawline, her cheekbones, her lips. Josephine’s eyes closed appreciatively, and Cassandra leaned forward to claim Josephine’s lips in a kiss.

They kissed for long minutes, Josephine lying replete and relaxed in Cassandra’s arms. When Cassandra pulled back, Josephine lifted her hand to trace Cassandra’s jaw. “My love,” she murmured, her voice rough with desire. “My love, what may I do for you, now?”

Cassandra bent down again, to place a chaste kiss on Josephine’s lips. “I find I do not wish to move on to anything else just yet,” she said, all love, all delight. “Perhaps later. But for now… let me hold you, love, just let me hold you.”

Josephine murmured something, and burrowed closer to Cassandra. The scent of roses was all around them; there were rose petals in Josephine’s hair where her head was tucked under Cassandra’s chin; Cassandra could feel the slowing beats of Josephine’s heart where their bodies met.

Nothing in any story could ever match this, Cassandra thought, softly kissing the crown of Josephine’s head. No romance novel, no legendary tale, not even the story of Luperne and Calia could be so good as this, here, now. Though, Cassandra thought with a smile, it _was_ Lupercalia, so perhaps she should give credit where it was due. _Perhaps_ , she thought, with another kiss on Josephine’s forehead.


End file.
